


Blush

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/F, Gap Filler, Light Dom/sub, Pre-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infamous Binge Eater arrives at Anteiku, and is unexpectedly pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fangirlingforeverz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingforeverz/gifts).



> done for a first time fic prompt on Tumblr: "blush."

Everyone is staring at Touka when she returns to the counter, and she jerks to a halt. Their expressions are sober, dark. Her pulse speeds.

“W-what?” she asks.

Koma snorts, and exchanges glances with Irimi, brows raised. Irimi’s nostrils flare. They both look back across the cafe, and Touka follows their gazes to the long-haired, glasses-wearing woman that she’s just returned from serving.

The woman turns a page of her book. Takes a sip of her espresso.

“We need to tell Yoshimura,” Irimi says quietly. “She’s definitely Binge Eater.”

As if aware of their scrutiny, the woman’s gaze lifts. Her gaze rests on each of them in turn, landing last on Touka, and lingering. Touka stills.

The infamous Binge Eater is unexpectedly pretty.

The woman’s mouth curls into a smile as she pushes her glasses back into place, and as she continues to stare, Touka looks away.

“I’ll get Yoshimura,” Touka says, and leaves before anyone can see the embarrassing flush on her face.

:::

It’s gotten to the point where Touka starts preparing an espresso the moment Binge Eater enters the cafe. This is to avoid excess dialogue.

It doesn’t work today.

“How do you know that’s what I want?”

Touka looks up through her bangs. “Huh?” she says, cleverly.

Binge Eater smiles and repeats herself. Each word falls from her mouth slow, sugared. Her tongue swathes each syllable with luxury and leisure.

“How do you know that’s what I want?”

Touka’s hand pauses, abashed, at the point where she would usually hand the mug over to Binge Eater. She gathers her words, aligns and armors them carefully, like soldiers, before sending them off.

“I apologize. If something else would be to your taste —”

“Oh yes,” Binge Eater says, “something else would _definitely_ be to my taste,” and something about the way she says it makes Touka look up — not at Binge Eater, but back and forth, checking to see if anyone’s in earshot.

Binge Eater laughs. “Don’t be scared, Touka-chan,” she says, and Touka’s head whips back to her.

“I’m not _scared_ ,” she protests. The red rising to her cheeks should prove it, as much as she’d rather it not be there at all to prove that she feels really...

Really what? To distract both of them, Touka demands, “How do you know my name?”

Binge Eater reaches across the counter, toward her. Touka stiffens, and Binge Eater uses her fingernail to tap the nametag above Touka’s left breast.

She withdraws. Touka swallows, then hardens.

“That’s impolite,” she says, meaning _don’t call me by my first name._

Binge Eater’s lips purse.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she says, and instead of saying _I won’t call you that again,_ she says, “You can call me Rize.”

“Rize?” Touka echoes it in confusion before realizing that this is supposed to be Binge Eater’s name.

“Good! See? We’re good friends already. You’re really pretty, Touka-chan,” Rize says.

“Wh-what?” Touka’s knuckles are white around the cooling mug of espresso.

“It’s true! You’re really pretty. And people believe pretty girls, right? For example, if you told that old man Yoshimura that my name is Kamishiro Rize, I’m sure that he would believe you, right?”

Rize is pretty enough herself, why doesn’t _she_ tell him? Touka realizes that Rize is staring at her with astonishment, and with some horror Touka realizes that she has muttered this aloud.

Touka fumbles through her mind for something, anything to say. Before she can come up with anything, Koma’s heavy footsteps thunk in behind her.

“Touka-chan?” he calls. “Do you need help over here?”

It isn’t really a question. Koma stands behind her, a presence as hard and heavy as a boulder, and Rize’s eyes flick toward him.

“Do you need anything else, miss?” Koma asks.

Rize’s eyes narrow, and then close as she makes a sweet smile.

“No, thank you.” Rize reaches over the counter as she takes the mug from Touka’s hand, and their fingers brush, feather-light. Rize drops exact change into the tray beside the cashier and goes to her usual table.

:::

“I don’t see what’s so bad about her.”

Koma and Irimi, who had been trading grumbles to each other behind the service counter, glance at Touka.

“Binge Eater means trouble,” Irimi says. “I don’t care if she’s in the ward, but why’s she always in _Anteiku_?”

Touka shrugs. As far as she’s concerned, Anteiku is a bastion, even for those like Kamishiro Rize. _And_ those like that snake Nishio Nishiki, who drags himself in the back door one night as Touka is closing up.

He’s delusional with agony, all salty tears and gaping gouges. The only thing they can make out is _“That fucking Binge Eater,_ ” and then Yoshimura stuffs his mouth with meat and Nishiki swallows it and passes out.

Nishiki wakes up fine, if more ornery than usual, but the wrinkles of Yoshimura’s face are deeply creased. Touka thinks, and thinks, and then decides.

Rize comes in the next morning, at the usual time. She heads straight to her table and Touka sits down not too long later, sliding a mug of espresso toward her.

“Well, good morning, Touka-chan! Thank you so much.” She rummages in her purse for money, which she places on the tray Touka brought along.

“How are you?” Rize asks.

“You shouldn’t come here anymore,” Touka tells her.

Rize’s brows lift. “Oh? I didn’t realize you disliked me that much.”

“W-what? No! It’s — i-it’s —“ Touka is flustered. She shakes her head, calms down. “If — if ghouls keep crawling back to Anteiku like that, we’re going to be discovered. And you’re mistaken,” she says, lowering her voice, “if you think we won’t do what’s necessary to protect this place.”

“Okay,” Rize says, and Touka blinks.

“Okay?”

Rize shrugs. “Sure. I’ll come by less often. If that will make you feel better.”

Touka isn’t sure what to say, but manages a quiet, “Good.” And then, “Thanks,” though she isn’t sure if she’s particularly grateful, or even glad.

Rize looks around, to where Koma and Irimi are, both of them watching her. Not taking her eyes away, Irimi starts up the bean grinder. Rize sighs.

“It’s getting a little tiring around here anyway. I’ll miss you, though, Touka-chan. And your delicious espresso. Hey, here’s an idea,” she says, “why don’t you come over to my place this afternoon?”

“Your place?”

Rize rips out a back page of her book and plucks the marker from the pocket of Touka’s apron, the one that Touka uses to write the names of to-go orders. On the paper Rize writes something, and then folds the paper up, and stands, handing it to Touka. Touka takes it.

In moments Rize is gone, leaving behind nothing but her espresso, unsipped; her money, untouched; and the paper in Touka’s hand, on which is written Rize’s address, and a phone number. By the time Touka returns to the service counter, the note is in her pocket, and her face is back to its usual color.

:::

When her shift finishes up that day, Touka goes.

Rize’s apartment is dead center in the middle of her new territory, which explains Nishiki’s luck. She opens the door, chewing, and turns, waving Touka inside without looking.

“Ojamashimasu,” Touka says quietly, and bends to tug off her shoes.

Rize is sitting on a futon bed, licking her fingers, when Touka comes in. The apartment’s furnishings are sparse: the futon, a fridge, books columned on the wall shelves, a small television, an unused and empty kitchen.

Rize is licking her fingers. “Have some food,” she offers, and Touka opens the fridge and then regrets it because no less than three things fall out and no matter how she tries to stuff them back in the door won’t close again. Behind her, Rize chuckles and then says, “Just bring everything that won’t fit here.”

Touka does. There are at least three limbs in the mix, and though Rize clearly has already eaten something, she takes two of them and works her way through them without any sign of slowing down. Touka takes the last. They watch a drama on the television in a silence broken only by Rize licking her fingers as she finishes.

In a different world, maybe this is what Touka would be doing all the time snacking, watching television maybe with Yoriko, and Yoriko’s other friends. If Touka still had one, maybe she would be doing this with her family. Calmly eating. Enjoying each other’s company, with ease, without the pressure of needing to act human.

It would be nice to do this more often. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next week, maybe —

 _No_. Touka catches herself, tightens her hands into fists, punches the thoughts down until they flatline. Binge Eater is the last person that should be trusted to stay anywhere. Touka glances over at Rize and starts when she realizes Rize is watching her.

“Still hungry?” Touka asks.

“Yes,” Rize answers. But she doesn’t move. Touka makes to stand to fetch her something else, but Rize reaches out and circles her hand around Touka’s wrist, stopping her. Her hand slides down, into Touka’s, and she intertwines her fingers with Touka’s. They are still somewhat moist with saliva. Swallowing, Touka settles back into the futon, and Rize crawls over her, one knee on either side of Touka’s waist, one hand on either side of Touka’s head, propped against the futon cushion. Rize leans forward, moving her mouth to Touka’s ear, moving her breasts into close, close view. She whispers, “Are you hungry too, Touka-chan?”

“Yeah,” Touka whispers back, because the way her stomach clenches certainly makes it seem that way, and Rize flicks off her glasses and tosses them to the other end of the futon. She curls her hands to Touka’s face, palms against her cheek and chin, and raises her up to kiss.

Rize’s mouth is all velvet and knives. Her tongue captures Touka’s lower lip and traces it, then guides it between Rize’s teeth to nip at, and every stroke of her teeth is electric, makes Touka’s body spasm with shock and raw, atavistic excitement. Touka prods back with her own tongue, tentative, and Rize suckles at it encouragingly, winds her fingers in Touka’s hair and gives it a good, achy pull.

Touka feels her mind get light and dizzy, feels it float and buzz, as if detaching from her heavy body completely. Rize nuzzles Touka’s chin upward, and Touka’s head rests on the cushion as Rize slurps at the bones of her throat, her collar, her breast. Soon, clothing prevents her from moving any further, and though Touka tries to help her undo the buttons and clasps of her shirt, her hands are shaking too much, and Rize grabs them.

“Are you still feeling alright, Touka-chan?”

Touka doesn’t think she has enough breath to speak, so she just nods. Rize smiles and kisses her palms.

“Then stay,” she instructs, and folds Touka’s hands behind her back, so they are pressed between Touka’s lower back and the futon. Rize resumes, pulling apart the sides of Touka’s vest and dress shirt, revealing Touka’s skin, soft and heaving and flushed. Rize’s hands run up and down from shoulders to belly, and then she places one each on Touka’s breasts, squeezing, eyes lighting when Touka gasps and wriggles beneath her.

The bra has a front clasp, and Rize undoes it with a pinch of her fingers. Touka winces as the chill of the room touches her bare breasts, and then winces again as Rize’s hands touch them next, startled by the unfamiliarity of contact there, the unexpected heat and softness of Rize’s palms. Rize works them with slow circles and then positions her fingers such that a V-shape is formed between middle and pointer finger. In the middle of each V is a nipple, and, lazily, Rize she bends her head down and presses her tongue against the left one, causing Touka to gasp and arch her back away from the futon.

Rize licks, laps, leaves Touka’s flesh gleaming and covered with goosebumps. Touka’s gasps become whines as Rize purses her lips and sucks, and her hands fist behind her back, her head pushes into the cushion. Rize’s mouth works loudly, wetly, across both nipples, and then drags downward, kissing along each rib, along her quaky stomach, along the line in her skin left by the hem of her slacks and underwear, which Rize is now rolling off. Touka draws her knees up to help free the last few centimeters.

“Thank you very much,” Rize says, and pulls Touka’s hands from behind her. She forms Touka’s fingers around the space above her ankles, and meets her gaze. Blushing, Touka keeps her hands in place when Rize withdraws, keeping her legs spread, knees bent and heels braced on the futon.

It’s not an overly difficult pose, but Touka quivers as Rize leans forward and sets her mouth between Touka’s thighs, between the lips of her sex, her tongue laving hungrily right to the center of her. Rize has her hands beneath Touka’s butt and jerks her shamelessly into a better position for penetrating deep.

Touka moans, writhes, as Rize devours her, her tongue making soft and relentless scooping motions inside her, and against the sensitive folds of skin around her clit, and then, finally, _on_ her clit. On this most sensitive part of her Rize’s tongue does nothing more but shiver gently against her, and after an eternity of this Touka makes a noise quite like a growl and bucks her hips, needy. To this Rize just laughs.

“You are just a little Rabbit, aren’t you,” she says, and, “Spread your legs wider,” and though Touka was sure this was not possible, somehow she manages it, pulling until she feels her muscles ache, and somehow she keeps them this way even as Rize goes at her in earnest, sucking and lapping until Touka’s body winds tight, tight, _tight_ —

Every nerve _bursts_ — Touka cries out, and releases her legs to clutch herself, nails digging into her hips. Her vision flares black, red, white. An indeterminate amount of time later, she realizes that she’s been lying limply on the futon, doing nothing but trying to catch her breath, and she does her best to straighten up, clearing her throat and ignoring the spinning of her head as the blood rushes back into it and straight to her face.

Rize smiles at her, and finishes licking her lips. Touka sees (for the first time, and with some surprise) that Rize is blushing. Her face is red and her eyes a little blearily, like someone drunk.

What should she do? Touka opens her mouth, and then closes it, realizing that she has no idea what to say. Seeing her dilemma, Rize hands her slacks and underwear to her, and Touka struggles back into them.

“Thanks,” Touka says, finally, working at the clasp of her bra.

“Thank you,” Touka amends, more politely.

“Thank _you_ ,” Rize says. She smiles again — not the usual saccharine smile that she flashes at Koma and Irimi, but something more messy, more real, a grin with teeth.

She sits next to her on the futon. Now fully clothed, Touka swallows, and musters her courage, and sets her hand, lightly, on Rize’s thigh. Rize blinks, and then laughs.

“I’m fine,” she says, “I’m full,” and the relief must be plain on Touka’s face because Rize reaches out and brushes her bangs out of her face.

“Want to take a nap?” she asks. She leans back on the futon, pats her lap encouragingly, and Touka hesitates, then lies down on it. The drama on the television is still going on — the woman on the television has discovered something, is running across the city barefoot in a wedding dress, sobbing and laughing — she runs, and runs, and runs, and before realizing it, Touka is asleep.

:::

Rize is somehow gone when Touka wakes up. Touka sits, and stares, and tells herself that this shouldn’t be surprising, or disappointing.

The television is still on, blaring the news, and Touka switches it off, then gathers her few things and leaves, making sure the door is locked behind her.

:::

Rize returns to Anteiku — not with the same frequency as before, as promised, but enough so that she’s accumulated a few admirers. One of them is a human regular who always orders lattes, and, after fleeing a weird and uncomfortable encounter with his friend, Touka turns back, and watches.

The regular and Rize are chatting it up, planning a bookstore date. Rize is giggling petitely behind her hand the whole time, and Touka has a suspicion that she won’t see this particular regular ever again.


End file.
